


Blowing Off Steam

by Carry_On_Destiel



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort/Angst, First Kiss, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, Rutting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-19 03:51:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4731869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carry_On_Destiel/pseuds/Carry_On_Destiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick isn't sure when it happened, but lately he can't stop admiring the way Daryl's biceps gleam under all that sweat and grime. He knows that his attraction wholly one-sided though, since Daryl seems to be the resident ladies man these days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blowing Off Steam

Rick looked up from his garden at the low rumble of Daryl's bike, returning from a run. He squinted against the midday sun, wiping sweat from his brow, as Maggie and Glenn hurried to open the gate for the shaggy-haired archer. Rick tried to go back to hilling his potatoes, leaning down to pluck the occasional stray weed, but he was distracted now. His focus kept sliding back to track Daryl's graceful, loping stride toward the prison. Finally, with the last hill shored up, Rick decided to leave the weeding and watering for Carl to finish later and trotted up to the yard, hoping to catch Daryl before he could ghost off again without a word to anyone. Luckily, as Rick neared the building, he smelled what must be roast venison and spots Daryl standing there with a bowl in hand, talking to Carol and one of the new members, a scrawny, bespectacled kid whose name Rick can't recall. Just then Daryl raised a hand to his lips and deliberately sucked each finger clean, before clapping the kid with a hearty handshake. Rick's breath caught at the sight. _What the hell is going ON with me?_ he wondered, watching Carol lead Daryl away for some unknown task.

Shifting restlessly, the cop-turned-farmer considered following the pair; surely he could come up with some reason to talk to Daryl, maybe even get him alone... The traps needed checking today, after all. But then what? What exactly did he even hope to accomplish by getting his right-hand man alone in the woods, besides embarrassing himself? Rick scrubbed a hand over his short, wiry beard with a frustrated growl and marched up to receive a bowl of meat and potatoes from the star-struck kid whose name, Rick remembers now, is Patrick. Nodding a polite thanks to the eager teen, Rick wandered away from the mess area and found himself leaning against the building overlooking the prison-yard. He tried to ignore the sight of Carol and Daryl walking, nearly arm in arm, unable to prevent himself wondering (yet again) if there was something going on between them.

He's not blind. It was pretty obvious that Carol is smitten by the younger man and she certainly has good reason. Memories of Daryl stumbling, wounded, bloodstained and utterly exhausted through Hershel's field sprang vividly to mind. Rick felt a grin tug the corner of his mouth, as he heard the hunter's gruff challenge _"That's the third time you've pointed that thing at my head - you gonna pull the trigger or what?"_   Then he recalled the way his heart had dropped into his stomach when that shot rang out and Daryl had fallen like a stone. Rick shuddered to think what would have happened if Andrea's bullet had struck an inch to the left... Yet even after all of that, Daryl had continued to look harder than anyone for Sophia. Rick should have told Daryl how much he appreciated that, how incredibly impressed he was by the man's determination. That's when it had started, even if Rick hadn't realized at the time.  
  
It was easy to see why Carol would fall for the quiet, soft-hearted warrior - but did Daryl feel the same way? Rick knew that Daryl would never intentionally hurt Carol's feelings, even if he didn't see her in that way. Daryl Dixon was kindness and selflessness and courage, all wrapped up in a gruff, surly, dirty, _sexy_ exterior. Rick really wanted to get to know the man under that tough facade... but he had no idea how to go about lowering the hunter's guard.

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Daryl glanced back over his shoulder, keeping pace with Carol as they made their way toward the outer-fence. He felt Rick's eyes on him. Wondering what the stoic leader is thinking about, he almost didn't notice Carol pointing out the weakening chain link. It looked ready to buckle under the weight of the walkers crowded around, gnashing mindlessly at the small group of defenders who were taking them out, one by one. Daryl wished that he had an M240, so he could tear through all those rotting skulls in one sweep - none of this one at a time bullshit. They had better things to do with their time.

Speaking of better things to do, Daryl was supposed to be getting a team together for their run this afternoon. For a split-second, he considered asking Rick to come along but he immediately squashed that idea. Rick had chosen to step away from the violence and danger, at least for now. He had needed time to grieve; time to connect with his daughter and _re_ connect with his son. He was a family man now, a farmer, and that was good. He deserved it. Still, Daryl felt the tiniest twinge of regret, thinking of Rick's take-charge attitude, his head tilted to one side and that expression of pure savagery when something threatened _Rick Grimes_ ' family. It was wrong to miss that, but _fuck_.. it was pretty hot. Daryl ducked his head, to hide the flush spreading over his cheeks at that unexpected thought, replied to Carol's request with a grunt and hurriedly excused himself.

Daryl strolled up to the parking lot where Sasha and the others were prepping for a potentially dangerous supply-run. Beth was there, seeing off her new boyfriend, who seemed like a cool kid. Daryl liked him. They had a lot of new people, most rescued from Woodbury but many newer recruits too. Stragglers that Daryl or Michonne had brought in over the past few months. There was safety in numbers, and Daryl was glad to have them, but more people meant more mouths to feed. More responsibility. He might have been able to hunt enough to feed their small Atlanta group, but a dozen squirrels and the odd deer wasn't nearly enough to satisfy that many hungry bellies. Thankfully, Daryl smiled, they had Rick Grimes. Rick had gone above and beyond to provide for everyone, growing fresh vegetables, raising pigs and even taking charge of the trap-line so that Daryl could focus on his other responsibilities.

It pissed Daryl off when people sneered at their leader's new projects; whispering behind his back, saying he'd gone soft or lost his nerve. That was bullshit. Daryl knew better. Rick was up at the ass-crack of dawn every damn day, working his fingers to the bone to keep these people fed. There was nothing "soft" about it. In fact, Rick was looking tougher and fitter than ever - the farmer's life suited him. The archer's thoughts strayed to the time he had spotted Rick stripping out of his sweat-soaked shirt; his hair sweaty and mussed, his lean, muscular torso gleaming in the afternoon sun... Yanking his mind away from that particular train of thought, Daryl swung a leg over his Triumph and fired her up with a satisfying roar, taking point as the small caravan headed out.

Rick and Carl were waiting by the gate as they approached, along with Michonne, who had clearly just arrived. Daryl grinned as the stunning warrior retrieved a stack of brand new comic books out of her saddlebag, handing them to an ecstatic Carl, the excitement shining brightly on his young, but world-weary, face. Daryl felt his heart swell at the sight, glad that the kid was getting a second chance to actually be a kid. Then Michonne leaned toward Rick, handing the blue-eyed officer something that Daryl didn't recognize but whatever it was had Rick grinning too. Something about the way they were looking at each other stirred something cold and unpleasant in the hunter's chest. He often suspected that Rick and Michonne might end up together one day. He had heard plenty of rumors floating around the prison that suggested they were more than just friends.  
  
The logical side of Daryl's brain knew that he should be glad for them; they both deserved to be happy. Rick Grimes deserved a woman who was strong, smart and loyal - nobody fit that description better than Michonne. And she was gorgeous on top of it, Daryl noted as she turned that dazzling white smile his direction, the sun glowing on her perfectly toned biceps. They would be perfect together, the hunter thought bitterly, as he pulled up to exchange a brief hello with the trio.

  
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Rick stood aside as Daryl pulled up to greet Michonne with his signature southern drawl, an almost flirtatious note in his voice. Michonne, however, was all business - immediately laying plans to continue her relentless hunt for the Governor. It was obvious, to Rick, that Daryl didn't want her to leave and suddenly he found himself wondering if _that's_ why Carol hadn't gotten anywhere with the guarded archer. Perhaps Daryl already had his eye on someone else. It would make sense, really. They were both fighters, survivors, loners... They both had a single-minded drive; a stubborn, relentless determination which Rick had rarely seen in his lifetime.  
  
A small part of Rick was surprised, in a way, that Daryl might be interested in Michonne _,_ after seeing the way that Merle Dixon had treated T-Dog. Rick felt guilty even thinking that way; he knew that Daryl was nothing like his brother. Merle had been obnoxious, selfish and crude, on top of being a racist, sexist asshole. The man had redeemed himself in the end, and Rick was grateful, but that didn't change the fact that Merle had been a dangerous, unfriendly and volatile addition to the group. Daryl Dixon, on the other hand, was quiet and reserved, yet funny and intelligent, compassionate and patient and... _Amazing_. Rick dragged his attention back to the present, just in time to hear Michonne volunteer for the run, much to Carl's dismay.  
  
Michonne hopped into the nearest vehicle without a second's hesitation. All action, that woman, never taking a moment to think of her own well-being. Just like Daryl, Rick mused, turning to say goodbye as they pulled away. Daryl reached out gave Rick a friendly tap on the stomach, causing an eruption of frantic butterflies low in his belly.  _Jesus, I'm acting like a damn teenager!_ He reprimanded himself, jogging over to open the gates for them.   
  
Rick watched the group pull away from the gate, slipping easily through the sparse crowd of corpses who attempted - rather lazily it seemed - to grab onto anything they could reach. Only Daryl was even remotely in danger but the hunter sat confidently astride his brother's old chopper, barely sparing them a glance, and _damn_ if he didn't look good doing it. Carl was already getting Michonne's horse rubbed down and fed, sulking a little. Rick knew he should probably get back to work but he lingered by the fence a few more moments, until the throaty roar of that Bonneville engine faded into the distance. Now that they were out of sight, Rick felt a faint twinge of worry for his right-hand man, but brushed it off easily. Daryl was the consummate survivor. He always came back. He would be fine - they all would.  
  
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A short while later, Rick found himself padding quietly along a narrow forest path, enveloped in serenity. The late-morning sun was filtering through the thick foliage above, casting a warm green-gold aura over everything and it felt as though he was lost in a dream. The only sounds were the rustling leaves and a few distant bird songs. He loved checking the snares, just as much as he loved waking with the sunrise to tend his garden. The beauty and contentment he found in nature were unmatched, except perhaps by watching Judith fall asleep in Carl's arms. Rick generally preferred to do this task alone, although he had taken Carl with him on a few occasions. That's a mistake he didn't plan on making again; a teenager in the woods is about as peaceful as a bobcat in a hen-house. When Rick first staked this trap-line, Daryl had come along to offer his expertise in both the best locations for each type of snare and to teach Rick how to set them.  
  
That had been a fun day, Rick recalled, smiling at the memory. Daryl was a different person out here, calm and introspective yet strangely excited and perfectly at ease. It was like this was where he was meant to be. They had joked easily and talked about anything - and everything - that came to mind. Rick had even talked about Lori and Shane; something he hadn't done with anyone else, not even Hershel. Daryl was different. The veteran hunter was also an expert trapper, he knew exactly where to set each snare based on the subtle trails on the damp forest floor. He pointed out deer scat, rabbit sign and even wild pig tracks, patiently explaining why each critter was drawn to a particular area and helping Rick set the snares accordingly.  
  
After they had set the last trap and were making their way slowly back to the prison, Daryl had spotted a young buck about 40 yards off, standing calmly in a clearing. The archer had immediately dropped to one knee, bow in hand, gesturing for Rick to stay quiet. Rick was more than happy to melt back into the shadows and watch as Daryl cocked the bowstring, his muscles taut with effort, then loaded a bolt along the barrel. He moved with the speed and confidence of someone who had done this a thousand times before. He sighted along the shaft, taking careful aim, then exhaled and pulled the trigger with a subtle _snap_ of the bowstring. The arrow found its mark, piercing the deer through temple, just below the base of its antler. It took one faltering step before dropping heavily to the ground. Rick had nearly cheered in admiration, wishing yet again that he knew how to handle a crossbow.

Daryl had bled and eviscerated the animal as casually as Rick might cut a sandwich, _"Easier t' haul this way."_ he had grunted, catching Rick's eye. They carried it back between them and were greeted with a round of enthusiastic applause. Rick had insisted that Daryl get all the credit, chuckling as the tough bowman ducked his head shyly, shrugging off the praise. Rick could feel himself getting hard just thinking of Daryl's flushed cheeks as the hunter tried to hide his pleased smile. The former officer ran his palm shakily across the front of his jeans, barely catching the moan that threatened to escape.  
  
It was getting more difficult to resist every time this happened - especially when he woke up in the middle of the night, hard as a rock and grinding into his mattress; with sleep-muddled images of angel wings and sweat-sheened biceps drifting in the back of his mind. Rick's hips thrust unbidden into the heel of his hand and this time he did groan; the sound rung out, shockingly loud in the deafening silence. Rick held his breath, listening, still running his hand slowly along his aching length. Finally, unable to wait any longer, he began tearing open his jeans with shaking fingers and freed his cock with a gasp of relief. The cool air felt incredible on his hot flesh. Rick wrapped a hand around his thick shaft, biting his lip hard in a bid to be silent. He started off slow but soon he was leaned against a tree with his forearm, while the other hand pumped up and down his aching rod, fast and hard. Rick squeezed his eyes shut, gasping softly, trying not to picture cool blue eyes or hear that soft, husky voice whisper _"C'mon Rick"_ _'_ but failed miserably. With one final thrust into his fist, Rick spilled his come all over the base of the tree and then sagged against the trunk, knees weak, his entire body thrumming with pleasure.  
  
After a few minutes of regulating his heartbeat, realization sank in: He had just jerked off thinking about _Daryl_   _fucking_ _Dixon._ Rick had never even thought about another man that way before... Okay, that wasn't completely true - but he had always been able control those feelings. He shoved them down and ignored them. He thought about women like he was supposed to, he married a woman. That's what you were _supposed to do_ \- right? Rick didn't know anymore... It had never been this hard to keep under control before. Why now? Rick pulled his jeans up angrily, feeling the gun bouncing on his thigh as he buckled his belt. Did things like gay and straight - or bi - even matter anymore? Rick ground his knuckles against his forehead in frustration. Maybe it didn't matter, maybe nobody else would care at all... But Rick was willing to bet that _Daryl_ would care. Even if Daryl didn't punch him in the face, Rick was certain the cool-eyed archer would avoid Rick completely if he ever found out that Rick was lusting after him like this.  
  
Rick followed his route along the dim path, no longer aware of the beauty around him, his mind reeling with guilt and self-doubt. When he spotted the deer, his heart sank even more. It was torn in half, its viscera strewn messily in the undergrowth. With an irritable growl, the officer cut the carcass loose and reset the snare. He pulled on his gloves and dragged the remains deeper into the bush, hoping the smell would not deter any other deer who might have wandered this trail. Or attract even more walkers to his trap line. Wiping blood off of his gloves, Rick continued his trek, perking up suddenly at the sound of labored breathing. Peering around a thick tree-trunk he located the source of the noise: a large wild boar lay heavily on its side, clearly caught in one of the large snares. Rick made to step forward when a sudden movement at the periphery of his vision halted him in his tracks.  
  
A waifish figure staggered forward, falling hungrily on Rick's catch. _Dammit_. Rick considered his gun for a brief instant but shook his head, knowing it was too late and moved away. His foot landed on a dry twig which snapped loudly in the oppressive quiet. The pale figure looked up sharply but Rick ignored it.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Rick stopped.  
  
"Please. Please help me."  
  
Well. Shit.  
  
  
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Daryl was agitated, angry, restless. He kept going over the events of the day, forcing his hand angrily through his too-long hair. What the fuck had happened? Everything was under control. It was good! How the hell had everything gone to shit like that? The hunter snarled, slamming his fist into the cinder block wall in frustration, barely feeling the split knuckle even when it began to bleed. Zach's screams of terror echoed in his ears like a terrible soundtrack, stuck on repeat. That haunting sound might drive him mad... but it wasn't the worst part. The worst part of all was remembering how Beth had reacted. Or _not_ reacted. Her eyes, so big and expressive, were dull and emotionless. As though she could no longer muster the energy to care about anyone or anything... Daryl snatched his crossbow and stormed out of the prison, wrenching open the steel door and crashing headlong into Rick.  
  
"Sorry, Rick." Daryl grunted, as he tried to step around the older man but Rick caught his arm, holding him steady.  
  
"Whoa, hey. You alright?" Rick's blue eyes were soft with concern, his hand still gripping Daryl loosely around the elbow.  
  
Daryl ran a hand wearily over his face, "Nah, M'fine. Just.. needa go blow off some steam, y'know?" He adjusted the bow slung over his his shoulder, shifting restlessly, "After what happened... Zach. Everything. I just needa get outta here 'n do something."  
  
Rick nodded understandingly, his piercing blue eyes drilling into Daryl, paralyzing him under that stormy gaze, "Yeah... Yeah, I get that..." the older man sighed heavily, looking as troubled as Daryl felt, "Do you- do you want some company? I mean, would it be alright if I came along?"  
  
Daryl pulled back, surprised by the shaky, vulnerable note in Rick's voice. On closer inspection, the man looked pale and haunted - what else had happened? Daryl knew that Rick had checked the snares, and brought back a decent catch but he hadn't had a chance to catch up with the days events.  
  
"Sure. Course you can, Rick." Daryl clapped his captain reassuringly on the shoulder and fell into step alongside him, their strides perfectly matched. The hunter  headed toward one of the make-shift gates along the fence, away from the larger herds and held it open for Rick to duck out. The pair walked quickly but calmly to the treeline, then cut west to follow the path to Daryl's favorite secluded meadow. He kept a stash of weapons and supplies hidden there, in case they ever needed to cut and run, but mostly he used this place as a getaway when he was feeling overwhelmed or angry. A dead oak at the end of the clearing served as his target on days, like today, when he needed to release his excess energy with some practice shooting. He had shown Rick and Michonne this place; knowing that they, more than anyone, would appreciate the solitude. Daryl shrugged off his bow and set it down on a nearby stump, within easy reach.  
  
"So Rick, you gonna tell me what's goin' on?" Daryl turned to face Rick, dispensing with small talk. He preferred to get straight to the point, otherwise why bother talking?  
  
Rick shuffled uneasily, staring at his feet before responding, "Today.. Out on the trail. I met a woman - Clara - she asked me for help. Said her husband was sick and they needed food. Shelter. Safety..." Rick chewed his bottom lip, fighting for composure, "She took me back to their camp and... and tried to feed me to her husband. He had turned."  
  
"Fuck." Daryl took a step forward, reaching for his friend but withdrew at the last second, "So.. so you hadda kill 'er?'  
  
Rick flinched at the question. "No. I didn't kill her Daryl. She did that herself." He spat bitterly,"She shoved a knife in her own belly and begged me to let her turn!"  
  
"Damn, Rick.. I'm sorry man." this time he did reach out, cautiously, and gripped the other man's trembling shoulder. Rick tensed for a moment then relaxed into Daryl's touch. "I'm sure you did everythin' you could for her - I know you did. You'da helped her if she had wanted it. Ain't your fault."  
  
Rick reached up and covered Daryl's hand with his own, squeezing gently as he nodded jerkily. "Thanks Daryl. That-that means a lot, coming from you."  
  
"Whassat mean? Coming from me?" Daryl gave a half-hearted grin and shoved playfully at Rick's firm shoulder. He barely budged.  
  
"It means I value your opinion Daryl. And your friendship. I'd never do anything to fuck that up." Rick voice was grim, his eyes pensive, "So. Talk to me about today. I was real sorry to hear about Zach."  
  
Daryl kicked morosely at a clump of grass and shrugged, "Same shit s'always happens, I guess. Things just went bad. We cleared the building first, like always, but there was a herd on the roof. Alla sudden they just started fallin' in. Right on top of us. Zach saved Bob, then... He was a good kid." Daryl felt a prickle behind his eyes and blinked back the threatening tears, "I liked him."  
  
Suddenly Rick was there, pulling Daryl into a rough embrace and muttering _"S'okay Daryl. Not your fault either. Nobody's fault."_ and Daryl melted into the warmth of his arms. He was thinking, absurdly, of how much nicer this was than hugging Beth. He turned his face into the older man's neck, feeling Rick's curls tickle his cheek and grinned despite himself. Daryl took a deep, shaky breath, noting idly that Rick smelled amazing. Like sweat and fire and damp soil. All those things that reminded Daryl of  _home._ Finally, Rick drew back just enough to look into the hunter's eyes. The light was fading from the sky, they both knew they should be getting back soon but there they stood, still wrapped in each others' arms. Daryl felt a stir of warmth, which had nothing to do with body heat, curl between his legs and he thought he saw something change in Rick's eyes. They had a smoky, predatory look in them now... Daryl's gaze drifted down to Rick's lower lip, which was still red and swollen where he had bitten down on it, and caught himself wondering what Rick would taste like. How the other man's mouth would feel under his lips.  
  
With a sudden jerk, he pulled out of Rick's grip, his heart racing in his chest, still staring into his friend's intensely blue eyes, "Rick..? When you said you didn't wanna fuck things up...what didya mean by that?" he could hear his own voice trembling as he kneaded his palms on his thighs nervously.  
  
Rick stared, swallowing hard, as though trying to work up the courage to say something terrifying, "Daryl... what would you do... If I- If I... kissed you right now?"  
  
Daryl felt his jaw drop, comically wide, and wondered if his eyes had bulged out of his head too. _Rick Grimes_ wanted to kiss **him**. Well... What the hell, right?  
  
Daryl stepped forward and caught Rick's collar in his fist roughly, jerking him in close so they were nose to nose. Rick looked wary, as though he was certain that Daryl was going to break his jaw. Instead, Daryl drifted in slightly, just barely brushing his lips against Rick's, then slowly sank in deeper to taste that soft, full lip that he'd been staring at moments earlier. Rick responded with a surprised grunt, his lips parting just enough for Daryl to lick his way in, tasting a hint of blood where Rick's teeth had broken the skin. Suddenly Rick's hands were gliding up the hunter's back, reverently tracing each embroidered feather on his vest before moving up to tangle in Daryl's long dark hair.  
  
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"Fuck, Daryl.." Rick moaned into the archer's mouth as his hands slid down to explore those muscular arms in great detail; committing each curve to memory since this could easily be a dream. Just another hallucination. Oh god, he hoped not, as Daryl guided him carefully back against a tree, pressing their bodies together. Their mouths never parted, even as they gasped and moaned each others' names. Rick felt Daryl's leg push between his own and he rutted against it instinctively, his cock begging for release. Daryl pinned him roughly against the trunk and pulled back with a wicked smile. He glanced down to where Rick was practically humping his leg and raised an eyebrow in that arrogant, cocky way of his, that drove Rick fucking crazy. Then the hunter pressed his own hips forward, rubbing their stiff cocks together with tantalizing precision. Rick nearly buckled at the sensation, but Daryl's strong hands kept him upright, as the hunter continued to thrust, firmly and rhythmically, bringing Rick closer to the brink with each movement.  
  
Daryl's mouth captured Rick's again, tasting of smoke and charred meat and _Daryl._ Rick heard himself whimper as his lower lip was caught between Daryl's teeth. The hunter didn't bite down. He only sucked gently, soothingly - maddeningly - as his hips continued their perfect gyrating rhythm. Rick knew he wouldn't last much longer like this. He pushed his fingers through the other man's surprisingly soft hair again, sinking deeper into the kiss, not vying for control but matching Daryl's fervor with equal enthusiasm. One hand slid down to grip the biker's firm ass, pulling him hard against his body, enjoying the sharp little gasp it evoked.  
  
"Daryl, Jesus! Oh, fuck yes- Daryl... Daryl, I'm gonna come.. I _need_ to come..." Rick pulled away from Daryl's hungry mouth, burying his face in the leather vest and soft skin at his neck instead, biting and sucking desperately, not caring if he left marks.  
  
Daryl dropped his head back limply, allowing Rick easier access to his vulnerable throat, hands digging into Rick's muscular back with a moan, "Oh fuck yeah, Rick. Come. I wanna make you come right here...  Come for me baby, please..."  
  
As soon as those words left Daryl's lips, Rick's hips stuttered and jerked almost violently and he felt the hot, wet burst of cum inside his jeans. Rick leaned heavily against the tree trunk, gasping for breath; the aftershocks of his orgasm crashing over him, wave after wave. Daryl was grinning triumphantly, watching the older man sink slowly to the forest floor. Rick's eyes fluttered shut for a moment then opened again, still glassy and unfocused.  
  
"Well, let's get you home Rick. I gotta feeling you're gonna sleep real good tonight." Daryl chuckled, pulling the lighter man to his feet with ease.  
  
"Hm? But what about you..? Ain't fair if you don't come too." Rick protested, reaching down to grip Daryl's hard shaft through his jeans. Daryl bit his lip and was about to agree when they heard a faint rustle from the trees next to them. Daryl snatched the knife from his belt, glancing over to see Rick similarly armed, all the post-orgasmic lassitude gone from his demeanor.  
  
The pair stood, shoulder to shoulder, tense with anticipation. After a few long moments they both decided that it had been nothing. Daryl glanced over at Rick, suddenly feeling shy and awkward. He didn't have a clue how to talk about what had just happened. Rick caught his eye and smiled a little, then glanced down at the wet spot on his jeans and grimaced; which struck Daryl as hilarious for some reason. It started as a smirk but soon he was nearly doubled-over with laughter, while Rick watched him sternly. The twinkle in those blue eyes suggested the officer was struggling not to laugh too. Rick cuffed Daryl lightly on the head and jerked a thumb back toward the prison, indicating that they ought to head back. Daryl nodded, still chuckling and donned his bow again.

**Author's Note:**

> All comments and criticisms are welcome but please keep it civil.


End file.
